


the things he doesn’t say.

by luckycharmz



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Fluff, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, POV Ian Gallagher, POV Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckycharmz/pseuds/luckycharmz
Summary: “Mickey?””Yeah?”“I love you,” you whisper it so quietly that maybe he doesn’t even hear it. It isn’t a common thing to say between the two of you, never actually said it to him either.You feel his body stiffen under your hold but then he pulls back and holds your face like it’s something to be prized, something important and worth it. His eyes are blue and the words written in them are clear as day.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 39
Kudos: 274





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Finding out something one didn’t know about the other.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is set some time after their first date but sammi and the mps don’t happen + Ian is getting stable again. 
> 
> POV Mickey Milkovich

You don’t mean to do it. 

You don’t mean to open the book full of _notes, ideas, stuff._

You fucking don’t. 

But it’s sitting there, staring you in the eyes, telling you to _do it_. 

So you do. 

You grab it gently and run a hand over it. You feel pretty fucking gay for doing that but no ones in the room so you don’t give a shit. 

It’s red, just like his hair, but darker. You turn it and see there’s pages folded at the top and some have sticky notes in them. The pen is also hooked to a page so you figure that’s the most recent one. 

You open that page. 

~~_Mickey,_ ~~

You know you should stop reading, really shouldn’t have even touched the damn book but you’ve seen your name now. 

The first thing you notice is your name but it’s crossed out. You realize just why when you see the next word. 

_Mick,_

You can’t explain it but you get it. It just makes sense. 

Instead you open up a different page. You see a list. 

  1. _Graduate_
  2. _ROTC_
  3. _West point_
  4. _Army_
  5. _Officer_



It dates back to a couple years. The same day you had got out of juvie and you and Ian spent the night at the dugouts. The only reason you remember that is because it was one of the happiest days of your life 

There’s arrows around the whole page, plans on how to get through each point on the list. Including doodles everywhere. 

Everything is black and grey, colorless. You wonder if that means something. 

Your heart rate picks up before you know it and then you realize why. 

He couldn’t complete anything on the list. 

It hurts you too much to think of it whereas he’s the one going through it. He’s the one that couldn’t be who he wanted because life already had fucking plans. 

It’s un-fucking-fair and stupid. Gallagher’s the most stubborn and persistent fucker in the South Side as far as you know and care for, he deserved to get out. 

He’s made his peace with it, mostly- so you don’t press on too much. 

A loose page slips out from underneath and you pick it up. 

_He loves me._

_He loves me not._

_He loves me._

_He loves me not because I’m just a warm mouth._

_Because we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend._

_Because he’d rather go to juvie than say he gives a shit about me._

You bite your lip so hard you taste blood, it’s bitter and painful and it’s just how you feel. Just how he had looked the day you said those words. 

The date is old, the page is faded yet it stands out and hits you like a ton of bricks. 

You wish you could take those words back. Smooth the rough lines on his forehead and kiss the pain away.

You shouldn't do the next thing you’re about to do. Absolutely fucking not but you don’t care. You grab the pen,

_he fucking loves you._

You scrawl it down and it’s messy but it’s readable and you can already imagine the smile on his face. 

You stuff it back in the book carefully as you found it before flipping through a few other pages. 

Mostly consisting of his stupid ideas; 

_go skydiving_

_move to New York_

_walk the entire Great Wall of China_

_get another tattoo_

_save a life_

_watch the sunrise_

_learn a new language_

You find yourself smiling at some of them, they sound just like him. Watch the sunrise and save a life. Of course.

A few moments later you find the same page with your name and school your expression. It’s still nagging you in the back of your mind. 

_Mick,_

_Thanks for making today the best day of my fucking life. Don’t think I ever felt so .... free and just fuckin happy. Which I know I was a bit fucked cause of that beer but I mean it._

_I know I’m crazy and up and then down and things suck sometimes but I wanna get better. For me, for you... us._

_Seeing you so happy today, I don’t ever want to put you through what Monica did with us. If I can help it, I will._

_You’re who I want._

_I hope I’m what you want too._

Their first date. Dated almost two weeks ago.

You see the word _today_ so he must’ve wrote it the night you got back. More specifically after you had passed out with his hand in your hair. 

There’s a stinging behind your eyes and your vision is blurry all of a sudden. You don’t know when it happened but you figure it was in between _Mick_ and _too_.

You feel your heart grow and tighten, it’s ready to explode and you don’t mind because Ian will always be there catch the fall.

In the back of your mind you always knew he didn’t want to be like Monica, that he isn’t. But you never knew this. That Ian is afraid to hurt you, to be himself. That he wants to be better for them. 

You shut the book immediately when you hear footsteps coming up because you know them. You know them like the back of your hand just like the rest of him so you place the book back on the table. You move to sit on the edge of the bed and rub at your eyes, just then the door opens. 

‘Hey, you’re up, sleepyhead.’ 

You look up and everything you read rushes back to the front of your skull. Everything feels heavy and hot and then he’s coming closer and closer and his hand is threading through your hair and.. and it’s all okay again. You can breathe. 

‘Get dressed, we’re goin’ out.’ With those words you stand and make your way to the bathroom. Ignoring the way his jaw drops but a smile spreads just as his head turns. 

You lock it behind yourself or he’ll run in and do something stupid, like kiss you.

You realize if going out in clean clothes and using utensils will make Gallagher happy then you’ll take him out every fucking day. 

Because you want to be better for him too. 


	2. ..but you hear anyways.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mickey?”
> 
> ”Yeah?” 
> 
> “I love you,” you whisper it so quietly that maybe he doesn’t even hear it. It isn’t a common thing to say between the two of you, never actually said it to him either. 
> 
> You feel his body stiffen under your hold but then he pulls back and holds your face like it’s something to be prized, something important and worth it. His eyes are blue and the words written in them are clear as day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds what Mickey wrote.
> 
> POV Ian Gallagher

You’re drowning. You feel like you’re six feet under, unable to catch your breath— to find your breath. 

But you feel the wind in your hair, maybe you’re floating? The wind is swaying your body side to side soothingly but then it’s nauseating. 

It _hurts_. 

One moment you’re on cloud nine and the next you’re being suffocated. The pain comes and goes on it’s own accords and you can’t control it. You’re a man of persistence and your work ethic and doing what you put your mind to. So to be in the unknown, in the darkness while everyone is living in the sun- it burns. 

You knew this was bound to happen. Things get bad before they get good again but it doesn’t mean you need to like it. 

Because you don’t. 

You hate it. You hate knowing things will get bad even when you’re not there yet. Your body is living in the now but your mind is preparing for what’s to come, the downfall. 

The low, low, _low_. 

You wish you were where everyone else is. Physically, mentally, in all aspects; you wish you were anything but this. But laying in bed, alone and cold and fearing your own self. 

Sure you asked to be left alone but only because you’re tired of looking at everyone’s faces. As if you’re fragile and broken and inhumane. It breaks your heart to see them like this because of _you_ , of who you are, you wish you could make it better. 

You can’t. 

You can’t get out of bed, make yourself whole again, so thinking of anyone else is off the table. 

It’s straining to think of anyone, of anything. 

All you’ve done for the last hour is look out the window. At the lonesome star shining through the darkness of the sky. 

You see it as a sliver of hope, the silver lining as they say. But it’s difficult to, when you’ve been through hell over and over the only silver lining is the brightness of the flame now. 

The breeze shakes you away from your thoughts, your toes curl and that’s enough hope you need for today. Some days you can’t talk or move or even breathe but today you can. Today your feet move under the covers and you shift from your side to your back. 

The room spins for a moment but then relief washes your body. You tried and you did and it’s a small feat but it’s everything to you. It’s the first step in the right direction, things will be okay again.

A groan elicits from your throat at the movement, deep and rough. You’re unable to recognize your own voice having not talked for the past week. You need water, you shift your head toward the table and see a full glass of water and a sandwich. 

You stretch your arm, your muscles ache and everything strains but you reach the glass. There’s a straw in it and any other day, you would’ve hated seeing it -a sign of weakness- but today you don’t. 

You drink more than half the glass and just as you’re about to move it, it spills on you. 

You’re cold and wet and the sheets are getting wet too and you hate it but- but you also _don’t_. 

You can _feel_. The coolness on your neck and chest and seeping into the sheets behind you, it feels good. 

Eventually the glass is placed back on the table and you lay there until the sheets dry, until your body feels cool. 

You feel like you’re finding your way back to shore, coming up for air. 

You’re in and out of sleep and when you wake up again, the room is still dark but the glass is full again only this time, there’s no straw. 

Mickey knows you hate straws, that’s why you love Mickey. 

Your eyes flicker to the plate and on cue your stomach growls. Without thinking, you [move](https://i.ibb.co/P9fjt4t/64-BCC958-E6-C0-42-A3-BF5-C-AEEE7-DD403-D2.jpg) up on your elbows and slouch against the wall. Your hand reaches for the plate but your eyes catch your book so you grab it instead. 

This book has been with you through it all, the good and bad, your highs and lows and everything else. 

You haven’t touched it since- since your date. When you were buzzed and Mickey was passed out on your chest and snoring sweetly. 

That was almost four months ago. 

You open the book where the pen is and just like you thought, it lands on that very page. 

Your hands skim the page and then your eyes skim your fingers; long, boney and freckles all over. You look away. 

_Don’t think I ever felt so .... free and just fuckin happy._

You don’t even need to think back to that night to know it’s the truth. All you do is think of Mickey and you feel _free_ , you think of Mickey and you’re _happy_. 

Mickey who stays through the highs and the lows. Always. You hope Mickey doesn’t leave, you don’t know what would happen if he did. You don’t want to think of it. 

_I hope I’m what you want too._

Every now and then you hope you are. Like when Mickey’s mad and doesn’t want to talk to anyone, you hope he still wants you. When he tells you to fuck off because he’s tired, you hope he doesn’t mean forever. Or when he doesn’t pick up your call or reply for hours, you hope he’ll come back.

Everything tightens in your chest so you flip to another page.

This one isn’t any better.

_~~ hi mick ~~ _

_~~ mickey ~~ _

_~~ mickey mickey mickey ~~ _

_ mick _

_ i once asked mandy how to tell if a guy liked me, she said he’d get that look in his eye _

_ do you, mickey? _

_ do you look at me? really look at me? _

_ i look at u _

_ even when i can’t see you, i see u _

_ u may never see any of this or hear any of it but it’s here. maybe some day when im long gone, you’ll see this _

_ maybe it’ll mean something then. _

_ or maybe not _

You wrote this on the bus. To the army. Your heart was cracking, piece by piece and you could hear the crackling of each broken piece before they fell to the ground. Before you stepped on them and broke yourself.

Before shit hit the fan, better yet, before you stole a fucking jet.

It's an old memory now, one that doesn't stand a chance compared to the present so you flip the page. 

_He loves me._

_He loves me not._

_He loves me._

_He loves me not because I’m just a warm mouth._

_Because we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend._

_Because he’d rather go to juvie than say he gives a shit about me._

Your eyes well and your vision goes blurry all too quickly until they catch something else.

Something you didn't write-clearly. 

_he fucking loves you._

You have no fear of anyone getting into your book, neither do you panic, you'd recognize that writing anywhere.

Messy and jagged but somehow clear as day and beautiful. 

Just like _Mickey_. 

Your eyes start to well for a completely different reason and you even feel your lips tug upwards. 

When was the last time you smiled or laughed? Something stupid Mickey said. 

And now, you find yourself smiling because of Mickey. Again. 

Your fingers trace over the words, your eyes trace over your fingers and all of a sudden you start to see light. You're getting closer. 

There's a knock on the door and it startles you enough to shut your book and shove it under the covers. 

It's Mickey. Beautiful, _beautiful_ , Mickey.

“Hey,” he whispers then closes the door behind himself quietly. He sits at the edge of the bed and the second his brows furrow, you know he’s realized. 

A tear slips and for you, it’s a weight lifted but for him, it’s worry. 

Mickey leans forward and kisses your head, just like he has every night the last week before he falls asleep. He thinks you’re sleeping but you’re not, you can’t sleep until he’s there. Until he’s close, closer, _closer_ , consuming you whole. 

“It’s okay,” he mumbles against your skin then rests his forehead on your temple. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes catch the lone star in the sky and it all makes sense.   
  
The whole time you’ve thought the star was alone when really, the moon was always there. Bright, bold and protective. 

Just like him. Always there. 

You bring your arms up slowly and wrap them around him loosely. 

“Okay,” you rasp out because you’re not sure it will be but you trust him. “Mickey?”

”Yeah?” 

“I love you,” you whisper it so quietly that maybe he doesn’t even hear it. It isn’t a common thing to say between the two of you, never actually said it to him either. 

You feel his body stiffen under your hold but then he pulls back and holds your face like it’s something to be prized, something important and worth it. His eyes are blue and the words written in them are clear as day. 

He leans forward and presses his lips against yours and just as the moon protects the darkness, you know he’ll protect you in yours. 

You shut your eyes and it’s no longer dark. You can finally, _finally_ , breathe again. 

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment. 🖤


End file.
